Crimson Time
by Solo Ensemble
Summary: Elizabeth Webber comes facetoface with Tom Baker on none other than Valentine's Day. And Jason is there to witness the fierce encounter.


**_Crimson Time_**

Her fingers tightened around the butt of the gun tucked into the waistband of her jeans, acting of their own volition. He didn't see the gun – it was hidden carefully yet accessibly away under her tweed blazer. It was her favorite one – blue and black with specks of cream – and she always thought she looked really cute when she put it on over her ribbed t-shirt and buttoned the first grey button.

Tom's lips twitched in amusement. If he knew what would transpire in the next three minutes, he wouldn't have been laughing. Time was an unpredictable storm – fooling her into thinking it was standing still just so it could whip on past her, stealing her already shaky breath away. She didn't see where she was, even though the spot was one that had been permanently burned into her memory since she was fifteen. She knew everything about it – the way it smelled, the types of bushes that inhabited it, the texture and composition of the pebbly soil.

But none of that mattered right now, because _she didn't feel it_. Her finger already wrapping around the trigger of the gun that Johnny O'Brien had entrusted to her for her own safety several weeks ago, Elizabeth didn't feel anything but her own racing pulse and her hot blood as it whistled through her veins. The only thing she was even remotely aware of was the sickening irony of the situation.

Valentine's Day.

In the park.

With him.

Tom Baker was standing in front of her once more, and even though she was seven years older, Elizabeth still felt the same wave of helplessness wash over her body. And that made her seething mad. Damn it, she was _not_ the same stupid, defenseless kid that he had ruined that night in the park. She was older, wiser, stronger. And she would not let him best her again. Once was enough to shatter her heart, body and spirit – twice just wasn't an option.

The thoughts that were running through her mind at that moment were the same ones that assaulted her the moment she had found out that Tom had escaped from prison. That was back in January, and certainly not at a great point in her life. She had left Jason in October, and after a few weeks of diving into his work, the enforcer had apparently picked up with Sonny's whore of a sister. If rumors were true, the two had shacked up together. She got the call from a friend in the PCPD the very night that Sonny had flipped out in the Cellar where she and Ric had been having dinner. After he nearly slit Jax's throat with a broken bottle, Jason had managed to drag his boss away from the club but not before Elizabeth had given him a few choice words to chew on. She had told him off that night completely, though not with as much malice as she had when she walked out of the penthouse. That night marked the end of one of the strongest friendships in her life, and the beginning of what she considered the end when her friend informed her that Tom had broken loose.

Ever since then, something told her that the two of them would end up here, now. It was a premonition, a bad dream that threatened her with the possibility of becoming an actuality, and indeed it had. Their paths had converged – that of a sociopath rapist and an independent, fiery artist – to this one spot where they had converged seven years ago.

Sonny had found out about the break a few days after that disastrous night and although he and Elizabeth weren't on the best of terms, the older man had remembered their friendship in years past and immediately assigned Johnny to guard her. Elizabeth had refused adamantly, not wanting to take anything from Jason or Sonny, but Johnny had been very persuasive. Finally, she agreed to let him give her some self-defense lessons and some quick tips regarding fire arms. And that was what led her here to this spot with a Glock – one conspicuously missing its serial numbers, at that – clenched in her dainty hand.

She had no idea what happened next, and she couldn't have stopped it even if she had wanted to. Not that she did, but then again, it didn't really make any difference. Nothing seemed to matter at that moment; nothing existed besides their two pulsing bodies, the wicked glint of a predator finding his cornered prey in his eyes, the animalistic determination to survive in hers.

He taunted her, the words cruel barbs that pierced through her favorite tweed blazer and wounded her heart just as he had wounded her body that night. But Elizabeth didn't let that show – she knew how to hide her fear better now than she did seven years ago. That was one of the things she had learned from men like Johnny and Jason; never let the enemy see your fear. Once you do, you may as well have signed your own death warrant. Fear was a powerful thing, a drug, an intoxicant, that had debilitating consequences.

She wouldn't soon forget what Johnny had whispered to her as he walked her to the studio that night and they heard footsteps behind them. _Fear has many eyes, Elizabeth_, he had said as he squeezed her hand and allowed her to tug him down the crosswalk to the other side of the street. _And it can see things underground._

She knew what he meant by that, and had decided then and there that her newest goal in life was to master her expressions until they no longer betrayed her emotions. Jason and Johnny excelled in that ability – there was no reason she couldn't. She wasn't going to let anything shine through her oft-expressive eyes except that which she willed. It was time to drop the trusting demeanor, the naiveté, the hopeless idealism that had almost become synonymous with her name. Because she couldn't afford it anymore.

As the days passed, Elizabeth Webber had morphed into a lethally stoic and fiercely confident young woman, and had effectively surprised everyone by the transformation. Though she didn't prowl the streets at night looking for trouble, she didn't assign herself the role of the victim anymore. If Tom was out, she'd have to deal with it. By herself. She wouldn't let Johnny or anyone else for that matter protect her from this. Not anymore. Lucky had protected her the last time, had picked her up off the ground and fixed her, and in the end, the relationship that developed between them almost ended up costing Elizabeth her identity and her independence. No. This time, she was going to face her demons on her own, and the triumph would be hers alone.

That was the mantra with which she faced her everyday life, with Tom Baker lurking in the recesses of her mind. She didn't talk to strangers, she didn't put up with the bums that hit on her at Jake's, and she was in no mood to cross the street at night just because some jerk was following her. When she had walked past him on the docks one night, Jason almost didn't even recognize his ex – her hands stuffed into the pockets of her leather jacket, the buttons closed up to her chest, and a contempt-filled scowl on her lips, she looked too hardened and bitter to be the sweet little girl he used to take for midnight rides.

Not that Elizabeth cared one way or another about him. Whereas she had before spent nights crying herself to sleep over how quickly Jason had moved on with the blonde skipper, he and his child whore no longer dominated her thoughts. Just as she was above being afraid of any stranger in the dark, she was above pining away for him. That part of her life was done; truth be told, Elizabeth Webber didn't believe she needed Jason Morgan as her knight in shining armor anymore. Because now, _she_ was the one wearing the armor.

And that armor was long since in place when she met her old nemesis in their spot. The wind was swirling around them, blowing her dark hair into her eyes. Tom was taking advantage of the dark, the harsh chill in the freezing air, to remind her of that night many years ago when he had taken her in the bushes. His words were sick and vile and if it hadn't been for her newfound creed, Elizabeth would have been vomiting in the bushes where he said he wanted to have her again.

Tom wasn't a soothsayer; he didn't see what would happen to him in the next two minutes and thirteen seconds. If he had, he would have chosen his words more carefully. But he didn't. Instead, he kept on talking, convinced that despite the poker face his prey had put on, his words were weakening her spirit before he could weaken and overcome her body for the second time.

Elizabeth's thumb stroked the cool metal of the gun underneath the flap of her blazer. Tom didn't see her; he thought she was holding her stomach or wrapping a protective hand in front of her intimate parts. As if that would do any good. He entertained the mental images of taking her again that very night, not knowing he only had one minute and twenty-three seconds left to do so.

The wind howled some more, but Elizabeth still heard every word he said. How he was glad that he was the first man to touch her, the first man to make her scream. How she'd never be able to forget their first time, or their second, for that matter. How he'd always be around, following her, watching her, and how she'd never be able to escape him. Of all the women he had taken, she had always been his favorite – probably because she had screamed the most. It was always such a thrill when they screamed. Got him hard every time.

He told her that he knew what she had been up to since he had left her. Her string of failed romances – that goodie-two-shoes kid with the boy band highlights, the reformed drug dealer, the mob enforcer, the lawyer. But none of them were as good as he was, were they? Did she still see his face when she made love to them? Did she still feel his hands when they explored her soft, warm flesh? Did she still hear his voice when they whispered her name as they exploded into her body? Thirty-nine seconds left.

He moved closer, the smooth, sadistic feline ready to pounce the wounded mouse and torture the life out of it. Did she still scream as hard when a man pounded himself into her tight caverns? It was time to found out.

Time was up.

Something flashed in Elizabeth's eyes, even though Tom missed it. But he didn't miss the next flash of silver in the dark night – the flash of cold metal as she ripped open her blazer and flung something at him. He looked up at her in surprise, and then down at the weapon he found himself holding. He turned it over in his hands, feeling for the numbers, until he realized his deadly mistake.

His eyes were wide with fear when he looked back up at the woman that had been his prey two seconds ago, the same woman that was now aiming the barrel of a gun right between his eyes. And what was more, Elizabeth had seen it. She had _seen_ his fear. And that was all she needed to see.

The wind whistled through the trees, whipping mercilessly at the tough branches and even sending a couple crashing down. But Elizabeth didn't hear the crackling and splintering of the wood. She didn't hear the car alarm that went off in the west parking lot. She didn't see Jason Morgan as he walked up the path to them, his hands stuffed in his pockets to escape the cold.

But Jason saw her. Ten seconds on the clock. His eyes went wide with fear when he saw his petite ex-girlfriend leveling a gun at the head of the armed man in front of her. The sight was enough to make his heart skip two beats and the blood in his veins run backwards – _Elizabeth was holding an armed man at gunpoint. _A yell sprang to his throats but died on his lips. His time had run out.

Elizabeth pulled the trigger.

The gun went off, an explosion of light in the darkness of the park. The man fell. Jason's heart rammed itself against his rib cage. The wind sent several leaves skittering over the pavement toward Elizabeth. He hit the pavement with a thud, bouncing slightly before coming to a solid rest on the asphalt. But that wasn't enough. Elizabeth pulled the trigger again, making the oozing hole in his forehead larger with the second bullet. The gun that the man held slid down his chest and scraped against the pavement before stopping two inches from his knee. Elizabeth dropped the gun, the assault weapon finally letting her hand feel its terrible weight. She looked up at him, her sparkling eyes meeting his stunned ones.

This time, Time really stopped.

Their gaze kept, blue on blue, and Jason didn't even have the presence of mind to draw his next breath. Elizabeth, on the other hand, seemed just as cool and confident as she had in the past few weeks. There was very little in her demeanor that screamed out, _I just killed my rapist!_ In fact, there was nothing. No shred of comprehension, much less remorse. Not that he expected any of the latter.

Jason stood rooted to the pavement, his blue eyes unable to tear themselves away from her. Tom was bleeding on the ground. He didn't care. Somewhere between when Elizabeth pulled the trigger and the man met the cement, he had realized who the stranger was. There was only one man in this world that would drive Elizabeth to kill. And now he was gone. By her hand.

And she didn't even look like she cared.

Still staring at her like a deer in the grips of a pair of headlights, Jason wondered how the transformation had morphed Elizabeth Webber so completely into someone as tough and hardened as, well, one of his own men. When had that happened? She had no business being like that – she was supposed to be the little girl that screamed into the wind, the temperamental artist that slashed her canvas because her painting wasn't working right, the sweet waitress that would sneak Michael an extra brownie even though Sonny said no. But here she was, standing before him in the frigid, merciless wind, holding a gun in her hand and not even sparing a second glance at the fallen man at her feet. The realization of everything that had changed over the years hit him hard and made his world spin. This wasn't the same Elizabeth that nursed him back to health on chicken soup and wouldn't even let him kill the spider that lived in her orchid plant because _Damn it, Jason, they deserve to live, too!_ She was someone different. Someone completely different.

He used to think that she hated his life, despised the violence and terror that they lived in. But seeing her with a mob gun in her hand, Jason knew that he was wrong. She fit in well. She could gun down a man and not even blink. And although that was something he looked for in the men he screened for their organization, he had always hoped that it would never touch the beautiful soul of his sweet friend. And seeing her tonight, it made him wonder just how big a role he played in her transformation.

Because here they were, standing in the cold night, both of their worlds turned upside down by an action that had become all too mundane in his own life.

And Elizabeth was taking off her coat.

Jason's brows furrowed – it was February. It was freezing. And she was taking her coat off? What was wrong with her? And then he saw it – he saw what he had so recklessly and completely been hoping to see. He saw the look in her eyes, he saw straight through to her soul, and he knew. And he could breathe again.

"I'll never be able to wear this again," Elizabeth sighed softly as she shrugged slowly out of her blazer. She stuck the barrel of the gun into her pocket and shrugged again, trying to wiggle her arms out of the sleeves. "I'll probably have to burn it."

The tears in her voice spurred Jason into movement, and Elizabeth didn't even notice as his long, purposeful strides swallowed up the pavement.

"It was my favorite one." Her lip was trembling now, and silver tears formed pools of glass against the rim of her eyes, threatening to fall and shatter against her porcelain cheeks. "I really loved it."

The cool, buttery leather of Jason's jacket muffled her sob as he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her body and refusing to let go. Her hands, small and trembling, fisted in the leather and held him just as tight as she burrowed deeper into him. Jason stroked her hair with one large hand, whispering nonsensical words of assurance into her ear as his mind raced furiously to size up the situation.

Tom was dead. Elizabeth had shot him. But the gun she was using – it had to be the one Johnny had given her – didn't have any serial numbers. And Tom was holding a gun, too…

Jason's gaze strayed toward the fallen man as he clasped a hand tightly to Elizabeth's neck and let her cry against him. The gun lay by his thigh and caught the moonlight. The serial numbers had been filed off.

He felt Elizabeth stir against him, and she in turn caught him staring down at Tom and, more importantly, the gun at his side. He looked down at her and hesitantly reached the pad of his thumb up to wipe away her tears.

"Self-defense," she whispered.

"What?"

She jutted her chin out, indicating the weapon. "I figured it wasn't killing him in cold blood if it was…self-defense."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Jason couldn't contain a smirk. "You thought of everything, didn't you, Elizabeth?"

She wasn't smiling. Elizabeth rubbed her nose against the soft leather of his jacket and tightened her hold on his waist.

"Not everything."

His chin was resting on her hair – when that had happened, he didn't know. "It's going to be okay."

"Oh, I know that."

"You do?"

"Mm-hmm. Tom won't ever come after me or another girl ever again."

Jason's mind was off somewhere in the distance, wondering who he should call first. It was a wonder Elizabeth hadn't gone into shock already; his first priority was taking care of her. Sonny and the rest could easily figure out the arrangements for the late Tom Baker. That is, if they even had to – Elizabeth was right. In giving him the gun and letting him get his prints on it, her defense was already strong.

"That's right," he whispered to her, letting his fingers run through her silky hair. "He's not going to be coming after anyone."

Something in his statement struck her as amusing and when Jason looked down, her eyes were glittering. "I took care of him."

The irony of the phrase wasn't lost on him. "Yes, you did. All by yourself."

Her sigh was soft and lost in the wind as his arms closed more tightly around her, rocking her slight frame gently. "Maybe. But on the other hand, I don't think it's wrong to need someone else, either."


End file.
